


the long night into dawn

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [66]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bruises, F/M, Hospitalization, Illustrated, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entire neighborhood has endured a trial by fire and the worst part is that it's not over yet.</p><p>Takes place during "something in the air".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. picking up what remains

**== >Be Kurloz after the announcement **

Your back itches from every stitch after getting shard of glass pulled out of you. The black coats said they pulled out all of it but you swear you can feel a small glass nodule rolling around somewhere; sewed up and nowhere to go. Your eyes and nose still burn from the tear gas and you have to reapply the wet cloth every twenty minutes to make the pain subside.  

You’ve been run through the grinder and its not over yet. The police decided to show up (finally) only to law down draconian law. You’re not looking forward to having the police crawling around. It means you’re not going to be able to go to work without having to worry about being tailed. They could bug your trailer and write it off later when you get caught.

You should go check your trailer for news parasites as well. You’ll have to do it alone too. Meulin’s been brave during this ordeal but she’s shaken. The idea of going back now frightens her.

You tap Meulin on the shoulder and she turns to you. <<I NEED TO CHECK THE TRAILER. ARE YOU GOING TO BE FINE HERE?>>

Meulin nods. “Yes. I’m going to stay with my brother for the night.”

You hope she doesn’t expect you to stay with Horuss and Aranea. You don’t want to stay in the same trailer as a pissed off Serket. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. (You also question the nature of Horuss and Equius’s ‘migraines’, but that’s another problem to consider down the road.) 

<<HOW ARE YOU FEELING?>>

Meulin smiles. “Kurloz, I’m alright. This situation is just stressful.”

<<YOU HAD TO FALL ON YOUR STOMACH THOUGH.>>

She shakes her head. “I’m tougher than I look.”

That doesn’t fill you with confidence but you nod. Horuss will keep her safe for the time being. When you leave the tent, there’s a flash of cameras and questions. Your response is a glare and a gesture to your throat about your muteness. You’ve dealt with the local news enough to know that a bored reaction is less newsworthy than an angry one. You move from the tent, circumventing garbage piles and police cars to get to your trailer.

The front door’s collapsed, completely destroyed by bullet spray. You toss it out of the doorway and enter your ruined home. 

Everything in the living room has been destroyed. The TV looks like a hunk of Swiss cheese, the couch is spilling its fluffed innards on the floor, and broken glass is scattered where the windows once were. The kitchen is done for too. Bullets hit the fridge motor so it stopped cooling. The oven is sparking, so you disconnect both appliances to prevent a fire. The pantry is hit and the cans inside are all destroyed, leaking soup and spaghetti sauce.

The bathroom window has been shattered by two stray bullets. No pipes were hit but the bullets went through the door. One of the bullets made it through the bathroom, journeying all the way to Nepeta’s bedroom before hitting her shipping wall. It must have lost its momentum because it’s lying on the floor.  You go get a plastic bag to pick up the bullet. Better to just hand it over to the police. You explore the rest of the trailer and find that the only untouched rooms were the storage room and your bedroom. 

You go back to the living room and debate about the damages. You’ll still have to file an incident report but what would be the point? You can pour thousands of dollars into repairing the trailer but it won’t make your family feel safe again. You start to straighten up the living room, pulling out pictures from broken frames under their glass shard blanket. You gaze at a picture of Nepeta, Meulin, and you all dressed for some mirthful holiday (you forget which one). Nepeta is a chubby kit and smiling at the camera despite wearing the frilliest dress Meulin picked out. You remember coaxing her to smile with the promise that she could take the bows out afterward.

 

 

You had all been so happy before you lost your faith. Before you hurt Nepeta. Before you fucked everything up, just like now.

You silently collect the photos, ignoring the lump in your throat.

There’s a noise from the kitchen and Harqun enters, via the back door. She keeps her distance in case you lash out.

“Count your blessings that you’re all safe,” Harqun says, “but I don’t think you should get ready to be done with this situation.”

You look at her and sign, <<I AM _FAR_ FROM BEING ‘DONE’. THOSE FUCKERS CAME TO _MY_ NEIGHBORHOOD, TRIED TO HURT _MY_ FAMILY. NO ONE GETS AWAY WITH THAT. NOT EVEN CAPONE. >>

Capone is the only one who would give the command for your death. He’s the only one that knows where you live and what time you’d be home. The Cherubs have no interest in you. You’re part of Capone’s organization and his problem. You can understand Capone’s hatred. You’re two purplebloods who command fear and respect. Instincts make it impossible for you to get along but there’s a proper way to these things. There’s a tradition and order that you’re both supposed to respect; the same one Gamzee and you obey. Gamzee hates that he’s smaller and weaker than you but he won’t challenge you again until he’s ready. Your arguments are between the two of you, with no quadrants in the middle.

Capone broke that rule. He went the cowardly way by having a third party kill you. No doubt he would have blamed your death on the UBK and kept this pointless war going, or maybe scapegoat the Trussians. Capone didn’t just break one of those critical rules you adhere to with this gesture. He set the rule book on fire and tossed it out of the window. You’ll deal with Capone and his bullshit but you’re not sinking to his disgusting level.

Harqun is staring at you and her expression is blank. The intensity in her eyes reminds you of Kankri or Karkat when someone they love is threatened. You know relatively nothing about the other purpleblood. Phaxin is the one always hanging around her, trying to win her over with his ‘charms’. Where did she come from? What does she want? You want to ask but you have a healthy paranoia when it comes to Harqun. You know the woman’s a trained killer and won’t hesitate to kill someone who’s asking too many questions. 

“Did you bring anything from Capone’s manor here?” asks Harqun.

<<NOTHING BUT MY GUNS. THE CHECKS GO TO THE BANK AND I DO BUG SWEEPS EVERY WEEKEND.>>

Harqun smirks. “You may want to check again because Phaxin placed a bug here a while ago. We’ve both been monitoring your home to see if anyone’s been snooping by here.”

You scowl. Phaxin would be so thoughtlessly concerned. Where in the hell did he even put it? He’s been over your trailer countless times so it could be anywhere. You’re going to thank him the next time you see him, right after throttling him.

<<AND?>>

“No one suspicious has been around your trailer, from our findings.” Harqun says, “They must have been observing you from a distance, or in the last few weeks.”

So you were last on someone’s shit list. <<WHAT ABOUT THE COPS? THIS PLACE IS ON LOCKDOWN AND YOU BLACK COATS ARE STILL HERE? WHAT’S GOING ON? _ARE_ YOU COPS?>>

“We work with them privately, when they want us.”

It hits you a minute later what she means. <<YOU’RE MERCENARIES.>>

Harqun looks at her nails, unconcerned. “Your word, not mine.”

It makes sense though. The Canzian government has been infamous in recent history for relying on private security and military contractors for excursions. It would give the police a reason to turn a blind eye to the black coats’ presence. But why are they in this neighborhood? What stake do they have here?

<<WHAT ABOUT THE BODIES?>>

“The police wanted them.” Harqun answers, “The bodies don’t mean anything to us and Swan seems very determined to take control of the situation, or at least make it look that way to keep the journalists off his back.” she tousles her hair. “We’re packing up now. I don’t think I have to tell you I was never here.”

You nod and Harqun leaves you to collect the rest of the pictures. You find a photo album that’s toppled out of a fallen bookcase and put them inside. The doorway creaks behind you and you see Kankri standing there. His arms are folded behind his back and carefully watching you.

<<WHAT DO YOU WANT, FATASS?>>

Kankri glances around. “Our home is wrecked too.” He speaks in a terse whisper, “The kitchen and living room unusable.” He looks you up and down. “Bedrooms are fine though. You can stay if you want.”

You know the idiot doesn’t have enough room for you, and you hate him. You would hate having him constantly in your space. You get ready to sign an annoyed ‘fuck that’ but then you see his eyes: dilated, watching your every movement like you are a predator. He’s abhorred violence for so long he’s forgotten how intoxicating it can be. 

And you know what he really wants.  

<<FINE.>>

This is a really bad idea but you can’t find a way to talk yourself out of it. You follow Kankri into the remains of the Vantas-Pyrope trailer. Their living room is equally wrecked and still retains the stench of death, although the black coats have removed the body. Will the man Kankri killed get an obituary? Will his family learn of his death? Did he _have_ family?

You know Kankri must be thinking the same but he says, casually, “We were planning on redecorating anyways. The mobilehive still needs to be grub proofed.”

Where is the money for that coming from? Kankri and Terezi can’t be earning more than minimum, but you don’t ask because you don’t care. Its not your concern.

You’re surprised by how clean and organized the bedroom is. You imagined Kankri would be slovenly would his ups and downs but instead he’s channeled his anxieties into a cleaning and repairing neurosis. PineSol and Febreeze assault you and it makes your skin crawl. Purplebloods rely more on smell and movement than other hemotypes so the lack of _actual_ odors throws you off. 

Kankri sprawls out on the daybed and you sit next to him. Before you can sign, he grabs your wrist. You understand the gesture immediately: no words, only instincts. You oblige him but not gently. Gentle is for red romance and your hatred is bone deep, but even you know that your hatred for Kankri is only second to the hatred he reserves for himself. No one could match such self-animosity.

You kiss him hard, biting his bottom lip. It bleeds and you lick the hot blood, not fighting the shiver from the burning taste. You lay on the daybed, panting and kissing until Kankri squirms from under you. You roll over and he sits on your waist, your bulges rubbing against each other through your clothes.

Kankri looks down at you. “What’s your safe word?” he whispers. 

<<ME THROWING YOU INTO THE WALL.>> What’s the point of a safe word if you can’t shout? Your hands slide up his thighs, lifting up his stupid sweater dress.

Kankri smirks and lets you undress him. His panties are purple and lacey. You smile, letting him know you approve of the lingerie. He slides over your bulge with a skill you expected, knowing he was once Capone’s favorite bed warmer. You let him have control, watching him rock his hips and hold onto the wall for leverage. He rides your bulge like he owns it and—for the time being—he does own it.

You had fears that Kankri would cower the minute you showed aggression; that you’d both fall to old habits and you’d be no different from Capone and his slaves. With every twitch and moan, those fears evaporate. You look up at Kankri, whose showing you his fangs in a thin aroused smile.

“I’m going to fuck you until you break.” Kankri pants and he snaps his hips in a way that makes your spine tremble and your bulge wants to fucking melt. Gods damn him for knowing how to do that. “I’m going to fuck you until you plead. _Highblood_.”

It’s the way that he rolls highblood off his tongue that makes you want more. It doesn’t matter that you’re on the bottom and he’s using you like a freshly unpackaged toy. You just want more. You dig your claws into him and mark him with every fang-clenching gasp.

But when it’s over, Kankri goes back to normal. His shoulders sag and he lies on his side, facing the doorway. Its still dark and quieter than the neighborhood has ever been.

Kankri breaks the silence first.

“Jegus fuck.” He whispers. “I almost died. We almost died. What’s the point in fearing anything after this? I killed a man. No, I killed more than one person, I’m sure of it. What was the point…?”

He’s not questioning the violence but his pacifism. Kankri had no choice but to be violent. It was either violence or risk his matesprit’s death. Now he questions the pacifism he’d latched into for years; the pacifism he tossed away the minute Terezi was threatened. He was the first to offer learning to use firearms. He didn’t hesitate to throw bombs at Cherubs to protect you.

He is, after all, still your brother.

You pull him close. <<WHAT GOOD HAS PACIFISM EVER DONE YOU? DID IT PROTECT YOU FROM CAPONE? DID IT SAVE YOU FROM YOU FROM GAMZEE? DID IT SAVE KARKAT?>>

Kankri’s eyes widen but he doesn’t break your gaze. Then they narrow and he speaks quietly, in the way you know that he is enraged but not acting on that anger. Yet.

“I suspected you knew what happened but I wasn’t entirely sure.” He grabs your hand—gently—before you can respond. “You knew he would be sent back to prison if you told the truth. So you took the blame and lost your job and set off gods know how many chains of events so you could protect him.”

Your response is a stare.

“Why?” There’s no outrage behind his words, just confusion.

<<I…>> You stop because you have to collect your dithering thoughts. <<I PROMISED MY MOTHER I WOULD WATCH OVER GAMZEE FOR HER. YOU KNOW THE NATURE OF GAMZEE’S CONCEPTION, YES?>>

Kankri frowns. “Unfortunately.”

<<WHAT YOU MAY NOT KNOW IS THAT THERE WAS…ANOTHER INCIDENT AFTERWARDS.>>

“What other ‘incident’?” Kankri is blank faced and you’re not surprised Porrim didn’t share that with him.

<<SOMETIME AFTER MEENAH LEFT, YOUR FATHER GAVE MY MOTHER...A GIFT. IT WAS A BOX FULL OF LETTERS, WRITTEN BY MY FATHER’S VICTIMS. PORRIM AND I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW YOUR FATHER DID IT BUT THE BOX WAS STUFFED WITH AT LEAST A HUNDRED MESSAGES. ALL THE WRONGS HE HAD COMITTED AND MOTHER COULD DO NOTHING BUT ACCEPT THE COLD HARD FACTS. ALONE.>>

You bow your head, but not out of sympathy for your parents. Both of them knew what they had gotten themselves into. You just hope no one ever rouses that level of vindictive rage in Kankri or Karkat.

<<SHE HAD A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN AND HAD TO LEAVE FOR NEW JACK TO RECOOPERATE. SHE DID MISSIONARY WORK ABROAD AND WHEN SHE CAME BACK SHE WAS DIFFERENT. SHE DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO MEENAH, SO SHE ASKED ME TO HELP GAMZEE. SO, I PROTECT MY IDIOT BROTHER FOR THE SAKE OF MY DEAD MOTHER. NO ONE ELSE’S.>>

Kankri’s face is hard. “I’m not surprised my father would do that. His rage could rock mountains from their foundations.” He folds his fingers, pondering. “His anger was like a phoenix. It could die, be buried, have salt thrown on its earth, but given a spark, it would rise up brilliant and beautiful as in its youth. It would rage and raze all it could and then only when sated would it die again.” He shuts his eyes. “Die and return and die and return…over and over again.”

When he opens his eyes again, they’re watery.

<<HE IS DEAD, KANKRI. YOU SAW HIS BODY. WE _ALL_ SAW HIS BODY. >>

“I am well aware of my father’s condition, but it is a complicated thing.” he says, without emotion, “No one but Megidoes, Vantases, and Captors understand that the past is still alive. It whispers in our ears, never dying. It sleeps and rouses itself to its own mocking purposes.” He pauses. “It’s like the paradox about Time’s Clockworks.”

You’re not in the mood for mythology but Kankri speaks anyways and you don’t interrupt him. His eyes are far off and you don’t think he’d even pause if you told him to shut up. 

“Time’s Clockworks is the god of time. He knows everything that is, was, and will be. Yet, he allows Blood and Haze’s chaos and destruction even though he could easily prevent it. Why? Why does he not manipulate paradox space to prevent such chaos? Does Time’s Clockworks believe that chaos must exist for him to have a purpose? What about evil itself? Is he indifferent, or is _he_ a puppet in the greater clockwork of the multiverse?”

You look at Kankri long and hard.

<<THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?>> you ask, impatiently.

“I don’t know.” Kankri admits. He shuts his eyes, tired and defeated. “I want to drink so badly and I can’t Death is so wretched, Kurloz, and I can’t _unsee_ it. _Unsmell_ it. _Unhear_ it. And yet I was aroused by it. I’m sick in the head. I’m sick in ways no one but you could really understand.” He rubs his face. “And I fucked you without protection or even thinking ahead. I just did it because I was aroused and I wanted it and I wanted you. I’m just like my father now. My _real_ father. I’m just like _him_. Its all _changed_ and I don’t like it. _I_ _don’t_ _want_ _it_.”

Very few want such dramatic changes but it can’t be undone. Kankri has been changing with them, from a dependant drunk to a fierce troll. He’s finally matured like his father would have wanted. You move the hair out of Kankri’s face and kiss him. He inhales sharply, his skin still sensitive from sweat and adrenaline.

He opens his eyes, which are still dilated in arousal. You pull him closer, signing, <<YOU’RE FAR TOO SUCCESSFUL IN YOUR QUADRANTS TO BE LIKE OUR INSANE FATHER.>>

Kankri smiles bitterly but his cheeks flush. “Says you…” He sighs. “We can’t stay here.”

<<WILL YOU LEAVE THE NEIGHBORHOOD?>>

“I can’t.”

<<CAN’T OR WON’T?>>

“Does it matter? Will you leave?”

<<I HAVE NO REASON TO.>>

“There is Capone.” Kankri rests his head on your shoulder. “He’ll see you dead before the year ends, Kurloz.”

<<NO MAKARA ABHORS FEAR. WE MANIPULATE IT, USE IT, BREATHE IT, AND CONSUME IT.>>

“ _Everyone_ has something to fear.” His eyes turn dark red and watery from stress. The adrenaline is leaving and fear is returning. “Everyone.”

Your heart stirs with pity and that’s not something you want. You don’t want your caliginous flipping to pale or red. <<YOU NEED YOUR MOIRAIL.>>

Kankri nods. “Yes…” He kisses you again, smiling. “I think Rufioh will need you given that his father has just made a dramatic return.”

<<OH YES…THE RETURN OF THE DISAPPEARED FATHER.>> You’re not looking forward to that conversation.

You redress and leave the bedroom. Terezi is sitting in the hall, clutching Redglare’s cane and still wearing the backpack. You assume that’s where she’s keeping the eggs. You cautiously walk past her, like skating around a sleeping dragon.

<<YOU MAY WANT TO CONTACT CRONUS.>> you say.

Terezi doesn’t answer. She’s still staring you down. You stare at her back and its five minutes before either of you speak.

“If you hurt him,” she whispers, “I will kill you.”

You’re not going to challenge her on that. If someone could make a person disappear, the second-best would be a Pyrope. You nod courteously and abruptly leave the trailer, feeling Terezi’s glare boring into your spine.

The outside air reeks of urban detritus—beer cans, plastic bags, molding food—seeping into the mud. Muted against that is the smell of blood and gunpowder; a scent that makes you think of work. The only invasive, foreign odor is from tear gas. The earlier storm has broken apart but the sky is still dark and cloudy.

You go to locate your scattered family.


	2. something bright to light your way

2: something bright to light your way

 

**== >Kurloz: Be Karkat at that exact moment**

 

Kanaya enters the tent but when you see Vriska isn’t with her, your heart sinks. You shouldn’t be surprised though. Vriska has every reason to be irritated with you. In hindsight, you had been too frightened and angry about her injuries to tap down on your demeanor. You became monstrous, just like everyone else during this horrible night.

 _Its not the first time though_ , you consider. Your mind now has the ambience of ugly sounds and images: guns firing, the death rattle of someone’s life being rung out, petrified faces, and foul odors. You banish the images, sounds, and smells floating around you with some effort. You can’t think about that. Not now. Not when there’s so much to be done. You focus on the people around you and seek out who needs your help.

Egbert is the only one not talking. He’s sitting on his blanket with his supply kit. John’s not paying attention to it or anything around him. His head is bandaged and his eyes are sunken in, like he hasn’t slept for weeks.

You stand in front of John. “Egbert.” When he doesn’t answer, you squat in front of him so he can’t look away. “John, you can’t stay out here and you can’t go back to your trailer alone. You need to stay with someone.”

John’s fingers slowly unfold from their clenched state. His knuckles are still bruised. “I’m fine by myself. There’s cleaning to do. I’m sure…they…made a mess.”

“No, you’re not, idiot. Roxy can handle that shit.” You grab his hand and tug him to his feet. “Come on, Egdork. You can stay with us. There’s always room on the couch for friends.”

John doesn’t fight you as he stands. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

“If we have room for two large animals, we have room for dorky human nerds.”

The corners of his mouth turn up. Its not a smile but its close enough to put your fears at ease. There’s noise coming from where Kurloz, Meulin, and Nepeta are but you’re not going to worry about it. If people aren’t shouting at each other, it can’t be anything too serious. You approach Dave and Jade, who are at the tent’s edge, near the entrance. Dave is holding their supply bag and Jade is leaning on her crutches.

“—deer meat in the fridge and all the vegetables are going to go bad.” Jade says.

“We can put ice in the freezer to keep it cold and put some of the perishables in there, like the milk.” Dave suggests. 

“It’s just a shame its going to go to waste.”

People are starting to move out of the tent, avoiding the flashes outside. There’s yelling and a shout of “Oh gods! Its in my _hair_!”. Some local must have flung trash at a reporter for harassing them.

Sollux walks over to you. His mutated eyes are giving off red-blue psionic discharge. You frown. “Are you alright?”

“Do I _look_ fucking alright, KK?” Sollux grumbles. “I got a bitch of psionic migraine and it’s not going away.”

“Could it be from the jammer?” Dave asks.

“Or from overexerting myself.” Sollux grunts.

“Jammer?” you ask.

“One of the Cherubs had a jammer.” Sollux explains, “The fucker pressed down on it and…” The yellowblood trails off, shutting his eyes. “It was awful. My brain got overloaded with terrible noise and these… _voices_. It was like hearing everyone who had ever died all screaming at once and I couldn’t shut it off.”

“But that’s impossible.” you say, “Jammers are still in the experimental stages. How would they get a working one?” Dampeners had been on the market as mandatory for powerful psionics in New Jack, but they were of questionable condition.

“The Cherubs must have powerful friends somewhere, or an engineer who’s fucked in the head.” Dave says.

“Maybe you should hang with your moirail for a while, Sollux.” You suggest.

Sollux shakes his head. “I just need a distraction. Without power, its gonna have to come from agitating Eridan and seeing Fef.” He frowns. “Whenever Fef shows up.”

“She’ll show up soon.”

Sollux just nods but grimaces suddenly. A battery lantern near him blows out in a shower of sparks. The yellowblood sighs. “Have to get used to doing _that_ again.” The yellowblood walks over to his parents, grumbling.

“Poor guy.” Jade sighs.

“Yeah.” You’re scared to think of what the jammer could have done to Aradia. Sollux blows out electronics with his headaches but Aradia could drop a tree on someone’s head.

“Dave,” John mutters, eyes on the ground, “is…is it alright if I—”

Dave shakes his head. “Hey, man, you don’t even have to ask. You’re my bro. _Su casa es mi casa_ , as far as I’m concerned.”

John blinks. “‘Your horse is my horse?’”

“You need to practice your Spanish, bro.” Dave sighs.

“As for the food,” you say, returning to the other topic, “we should just throw it away. We couldn’t possibly eat all of it.”

“Throw it away _where_?” Dave gestures around. “Add in spoiling meat to this mix even for a short while and we might give everyone in the neighborhood cholera. Let’s not forget all the animals we’ll attract.”

“He’s right.” Jade says, “One time our meat freezer broke and Grandpa and I had to toss out ten pounds of rotten fish and meat. It attracted every lusus from here to the swamp trying to get at it.”

“Why don’t we just cook it?” John suggests.

Dave looks at him. “What?”

John scratches his bandaged scalp. “Maybe it’s the mild concussion talking but why don’t you just cook all the meat? You don’t need power for a barbeque. All you need is fuel. Why don’t you just cook all the food and give it to everyone in the neighborhood. It’ll be cold after a while but we’ll have something to eat.”

You calculate how much fuel that would require. You have at least ten pounds of defrosted deer in the fridge, plus the additional meat in the freezer. The other hunters in the neighborhood should have something close to that amount. “That’ll take a lot of fuel and I don’t know if everyone likes barbeque.”

Jade smiles. “Karkat, we’re rednecks. We’re always up for barbeque.”

“A barbeque at two in the morning.” You sigh and shrug. “Okay, why the fuck not? Who’s grilling?”

“You’re talking to a Strider here, Karkat,” Dave says, “Striders know three things: rapping, weapons, and grilling.”

“And reproducing.” John adds. “Watch out, Jade. Dave will totally put quadruplets into you.”

“I’m not supporting college tuition for five kids. I _like_ eating three meals a day and not being homeless.” Dave says.

“Dave, should you be grilling with your right hand like that?” You ask, pointing to the stitched and bruised right hand.  

Dave rolls his eyes. “Karkat, its grilling. I can use my left hand for that. And usually I like to marinade but this is an emergency situation.”

You roll your eyes. “Oooh, aren’t we, Mr. Fancy with our ‘marinades’?”

You look at the crowd and pick out whose missing: Vriska (which you already knew), Kurloz, Kankri, Terezi, Rufioh, Petros, Gamzee, and Tavros. That means a good amount of people are still here.

“ _Hey_!” you shout, getting their attention, “We’re cooking all our meats, so who wants free barbeque? Vegetables and fish included?” You add the latter because you know the Zahhaks are vegetarian.

No one protests the idea. Everyone here works for a living. They don’t want to waste the food they earned. Dave and John pull out the barbeque (which had been temporarily dragged inside) and spray it down with the hose. A quick wipe down and its ready for business. You organize the long line of people who have excavated frozen food from the depths of their freezers to be cooked. Soon a tall column of smoke spirals from the Strider mobilehive and the air is full of sizzling fat and meat.

The police are still taking notes from your neighbors. Once all of you move out of the tent, the black coats start packing up. You want to thank Harqun but you can’t approach her without the reporters taking notice. The reporters are currently filming their responses and editorials to the situation (focusing on most the degradation of Orthodoxian values). The interns, meanwhile, look exhausted. They’re grimy, muddy, only working for college credit, and it shows on their tired faces.

Parked in front of the Strider trailer is a police car with two bored looking officers standing in front of it. Caegar is moving up and down the street, smoothing things over with the most agitated neighbors, but she’s wobbling. Swan took off an hour ago and she must be dead on her feet.

You go back to Strider. “I think we should offer them something.” you say, pointing to the cops.

“Why?” Dave says, flipping burgers, “They’re only here because Swan made them stay. Probably went back to East New Jack as soon as he could.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to offer them something. We have a lot of food. If they’re going to stay here, we might as well learn to live with them.”  

“I thought you hated cops?”

“I…” You sigh and say in a lowered voice, “I don’t know, alright? Yeah, the cops have done a crappy job in the Ninth Ward but _we_ didn’t do any better.”

“And they would’ve?” Dave rolls his eyes. “Listen, you can play Troll Jegus if you want. I’m just telling you to watch out. Cops and Niners aren’t friends in this city.”  

“I know.” You grunt and walk over to the cops. The cops are trying to look intimidating but they’re napping while standing up. They’re both human (one guy, one girl) and their shirts are stained with sweat and mud. When you get within three feet, they stand at attention.

“Is something wrong?” the girl asks.

“We’re cooking all our meat and vegetables since the power isn’t coming back anytime soon and there’s a _lot_ of it,” you say, “and you guys have been working really hard so…do you want some?”

The man looks at his partner. “I don’t know. Isn’t that considered bribery?”

“It’s a just food, Jing, and we’re going to be out of power too. I consider this shopping. Caegar will understand.” The woman snorts. 

You’re not sure if Caegar will understand but you let the officers get a plate of deer burgers. People look at them uneasily at first but good food eases the tension. Everyone is too hungry and tired to complain about cops getting something to eat. Other cops come by, sneaking in to get a meal before Caegar looks in their direction. The necessary cookout has become a block party, except everyone is filthy with mud, garbage, blood, and too stressed out to sleep. Jokes are being cracked left and right to lighten the gloomy mood.

Meenah and Feferi haven’t shown up yet. You hope they’re alright. You look at your iHusk but your battery is at twenty percent and your reception is poor with the transformer and wifi hubs out. You notice neither Kankri nor Kurloz are here. You hope they’re not together or if they’re together, they’re making good choices. Then you recall _your_ choices over the past months and realize the odds of good ones are very slim.

Terezi crosses the street, walking around the police car, and approaching you. She’s using her cane more, moving it from side to side to stay out of the way of debris. She walks over to you and touches your hand.

“Can we talk?” she whispers.

“Sure.”

You lead her into the Strider mobilehive and Terezi winces from the smell. The walls and floor stink of tear gas and the windows are gone from bullet spray and Jake being tossed through. Jake’s blood is still smeared across the floor. You get the mop and broom from the kitchen and start cleaning. You sweep up the glass and splash the blood with bleach. When you clean off the couch, you let Terezi sit. Terezi takes off her backpack and pulls out a small container holding the eggs, packed in with vermiculite. She opens it, runs her fingers over them, and exhales.

You don’t sit down until most of the glass and window debris is swept up. The trailer smells of bleach but it’s better than tear gas. “How are they?”

“Alive.” Terezi kisses the eggs and looks up at you. “I don’t think I have to say what we’re all thinking.”

You nod. “You should see the neighbors out there. They considered us weird before for dealing with humans but now its going to be even more segregated, for lack of a better word.”

“We’ve all bound ourselves in blood.” Terezi rubs her face and breathes in slowly. “In five hours the news will come on. They’ll mention we’re without power and make us the faces of urban poverty and pity for all of New Jack.”

She dips over briefly and you’re afraid she’s going to pass out. You touch her back and Terezi goes still.

“I don’t even care that my home is destroyed.” she whispers, “Homes can be repaired but people can’t. I should be more worried that reporters are harassing us but all I can think about is my mother left in a trailer without power to wallow in misery. She’s so sick, Karkat...she might be dying and if she dies, my father will fall apart right behind her.”

You keep your arm around her. You don’t need to tell her to be strong. Terezi’s held it and her family together longer than anyone should. You wait for her to collect herself again.

“All I can think about is DynamiCHEM.” She whispers, “How they exploited my mother and all those other trolls. I want people to know what they did. I want it all over the news, on every channel, covered by CNN and anyone else who calls themself a blogger or journalist. I want…I _need_ to have this, Karkat.”

“That’s a tall order, Terezi. DynamiCHEM helped make New Jack what it is. They have more lawyers than people in this neighborhood. I’m not _doubting_ you”—you add, because she scowls—“but I’m doubting the time frame. Legal battles aren’t quick. Latula may…pass away before you get justice.”

Terezi smiles, showing her shark teeth. “Then it’s a good thing I’m coldblood then because my lifespan gives me patience.”

You kiss her in the palest way possible. “Then go fuck ‘em up, Rezi. I’m here if you need anything.”

Terezi stands, still leaning on her cane. “All I need right now is something to eat and maybe a shower. Watch the eggs please?” 

“Sure.” The least you can do is watch Khanie and Kempie.

She leaves and you return to your cleaning. You’ll have to look online to see what you can do about the tear gas smell. You finish cleaning the living room and debate about what to do for the windows.


	3. a mother's hatred

**== > Karkat: Be Gamzee at that very moment**

 

“Gamzee, don’t scratch the bandages.” Tav says for the fifth time.

You glower and shove your hands in your pockets. Your cold pack went warm ten minutes ago so you tossed it. Not like anyone’s gonna bitch at you for adding more garbage to this ratty neighborhood.

You’re walking to Two Boot Drive, even though the road is becoming sloppier and more hazardous with trash and potholes. Everything is pitch dark and all Tav and you have are flashlights to show you the way. You have to beat back the mosquitoes and gnats attracted by the lights. 

You swat at a mosquito crawling on your neck. “Motherfucking itches.”

“We’ll change it when we get to Feferi’s.” Tav says, “You lucked out since its just second degree burns.”

You roll your eyes. “Ain’t scared of burns. Been burned plenty of times before and a lot worst.”

Tav’s eyes go wide as dinner plates. “Seriously?”

You search your memories. “Think this is my second time by fire. Fire burns ain’t so bad. Nothing is as bad as chemical burns.”

“Chemical burns? From what?”

“You sure you wanna know?” These days you gotta check with people before you spit the truth. You told Tav why you ain’t so fond of hospitals and he couldn’t sleep for three days.

Tav nods, smiling bitterly. “Not like I’m squeamish. Not anymore.”

That makes your heart hurt. People always think Hanael made Tav cold and hard but that was only on the outside. Shit like this—having your home wrecked and green-faced fuckers killing people—turns even a warmblood brother like Tav cold as Fef’s blood.

You slop through the mud with Tav and think back to what happened. “We did a lot of chemical tests in Amethyst ‘cause they weren’t so dangerous. They’d sterilize your arm and then they’d paint a strip of some chem on it and each arm would be different. So, this one time I had Nair on my left and Icy Hot on my right.”

Tav looks confused. “Nair? On a _troll_?”

You shrug. “Guess they was trying to get trolls to buy Nair, or maybe they was trying out a new formula. I dunno. Anyways, you’d get a chem strip on your arm or leg and then pending on the test, you’d either wait it out or do stuff. This time they wanted me to work up a good sweat and I did. But I guess the chems didn’t like me cause it started to burn. It was like my arms were on fire. Pain was so bad I passed out. When I woke up, I was back in my cell and I had bandages all over me.”

You look at your burned right arm. Your arm got the most damage: a gash along your palm from the bullet grazing it and blisters on the fingers. It’s painful to make a fist but not as painful as being eaten alive by Icy Hot and Nair.

Tav has the saddest look on his face. You don’t know what to say. You turn on Two Boot Drive, which is more plastic and trash than muddy water. You hold Tav’s hand so he doesn’t fall. Walking along Two Boots Drive is never easy. Tav and you are both wearing rubber boots (as is mandatory in New Jack’s rainy autumn) as you trudge through the mud. The entire place stinks to high hell but you’ve tolerated worse smells. Tav starts gagging though and you have to temporarily stop until he’s over it. You think it’s mostly nerves bothering him than the smell but he’s sensitive to smells these days. Nothing comes up though because he puked earlier.

When he’s done heaving, you go to the dark Peixes trailer. You get on the porch and shake off the excess mud. You knock at the door. “Fef? Meenah?”

There’s a clatter inside. Table legs scrape across the floor and the door opens with a loud creak. Meenah’s eyes are dark orange and she’s got a neat row of welts across her chest. You look at each other and don’t know what to say.

“How’s Fef?” you ask.

“Alright, for what it’s worth.” Meenah says.

Meenah lets you into the trailer. The dining room table has been pushed against the door, the bookcase is missing, but there’s a pile of books in the corner. It must have been used as a barricade elsewhere. You go to Fef’s room alone because Tav doesn’t want to intrude on your pale time. Fef’s half-awake and floating in her recuperacoon. When she sees you, she looks up.

“Gamzee…?” she whispers. Her eyes are half-shut.

You run your fingers through her sopor-slick hair. “Hey, Fef.”

She smiles weakly. “You’re alive…”

“Yeah. Motherfuckers didn’t get a scratch on me.” You think of Fef locked in the trailer, hearing gunshots, not knowing if people are alive or dead, unable to have control over her body, and your heart breaks a little for her.

“I had a really bad dream…” she whispers, “…I had a dream where I hurt you really bad. I was really bad and I did awful things to you…and no one stopped me…”

“You can’t hurt me, Fef.” You lie, because Fef _is_ strong enough to hurt you. You know from past fists that she packs a wallop. “It was just a dream.”

Feferi nods and her eyes shut.

“She had a fit when the bullets started flying.” You turn and Meenah’s standing in the doorway.

You look at the sopor on your hand, so tempting with its smells and viscous texture. You shudder and push past her. You go to the bathroom and immediately wash it off, watching it go down the drain. You make sure to use the antimicrobial soap to cover up the luring smell. You leave the bathroom and see that Meenah’s followed you. You scowl and before you can move, she pulls you into a hug. You go limp because your first instinct is to shove her right the fuck off, but you can’t. Fef is here and even though she’s out of it, she’d be alarmed if she saw you shoving her— _your_ —mother.

So you count to three and holding back all your anger, quietly say, “Let. Me. _Motherfucking_. Go.”

 

 

You’re not growling but your voice is on edge. Meenah releases you, inhaling shakily. Her eyes are rosy with tears.

“I thought I’d see you in a body bag.” She whispers, shakily.

“I’m not.” You grunt. You go to the living room and see Tav’s nodded off on the couch. He’s had a long night and his energy isn’t what it used to be.

Meenah doesn’t leave you alone though. She walks over, whispering, “Can we talk?”

Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ … “Fine. After I move Tav.” you grunt.

You take off Tav’s boots and pick him up easily. Even with grub weight and robot legs, he doesn’t weigh much. You put him on Fef’s bed and tuck him in. You go back to the living room to face Meenah, even though you’re dreading it. You’d rather chew off your legs than talk to Meenah. You wished you didn’t _know_ Meenah. You want to find the troll who thought human-style families were a good idea and bash their head in.

Meenah stands in the middle of the living room, looking at you.

“Gamzee…” Meenah begins but then stops.

She didn’t think about what she was going to say to you because she never thinks ahead for _fucking anything_ in her _fucking waste of a life_. Your heart is thumping faster. You take a deep breath and count to three again. Getting angry will only make things worse. You pace for a few minutes and when you get tired of doing that, you sit on the couch. Your leg won’t stay still though and keeps bobbing up and down. 

When she starts up again, she’s less shaky: “I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you when you were accused. I knew my boy wouldn’t hurt anybody like that but I didn’t have proof and no one would believe me, and no one would _help_ _me_. Not my father. Not the state. No one.”

She swallows, looking ready to start bawling.

“You have every reason to be mad at me but I don’t…gods, I’m your _mother_ , Gamzee. Why don’t you say something to me? You can scream at me, curse me, hate me, but don’t _ignore_ me. Don’t give me the silent treatment after all this time.”

Your expression stays the same but you’re groaning internally. You don’t give a shit about what happened before. Not anymore. Meenah could’ve had a mountain of evidence and Troll Johnny Cochrane but that wouldn’t mean shit. You were guilty before you even went to trial and her old man—your grandfather—made sure you stayed in prison.

You want to tell her to piss off but you can’t. You look at her dismal face and see Fef. You’re not the kind of troll who forgives but you understand sacrificing for Tav and Fef.

“I hate everyone equally.” you growl as nicely as possible, “So it may look like I hate you a lot but I just hate you as much as I hate everyone else. And when I hate people—platonically—I don’t go near ‘em cause that’s just cause for bad shit to jump off.”

Meenah is silent, watching you with narrowed eyes.

“When I was in Amethyst,” you continue, “I wanted it all gone. I wanted a black hole to open up and suck all this shit up. Saints, sinners, whores, virgins, good and bad all sucked up and disappeared forever. I wanted it _all_ gone, including me, and then I’d be happy. Happy and fucking _dead_ , but I don’t want that anymore.”

Because destroying everything would include the obliteration of a choice handful of people you care about. 

“So,” you mutter, concluding, “I don’t want it all gone but I don’t like it any better. I hate plenty of people and I hate you with ‘em. But it ain’t you. Its just the way I am.”

Meenah swallows and looks stricken. She knows you spit truth but she doesn’t like it. She ain’t never been fond of reality. “I’m sorry you’re this way and not just ‘cause of prison. I was so fucked up when I had you—”

“It doesn’t matter.” You snarl, showing your teeth. She quiets down. Your claws dig into your arm so you don’t get up and put her through the wall. “What’s up with Fef?”

Meenah touches her welts. “Her other self only got me ‘cause I was distracted. It stings but it’s not deep.” She smiles and its looks genuine. “They’re down to fifteen minutes now.”

Fef’s been drinking a special tea for the past month. Fef’s fits are random so neither of you were sure if it was working or not. The first fit she had since laying her eggs lasted for an hour (which was the average). The next was forty five minutes. Then after that it started counting down. Now she’s down to fifteen.

You’re finally making progress. Fef can have her life back.

“I’ve been recording what she says during her fits,” Meenah says, “Kankri has an idea that we should take Feferi to a hypnotist and fully explore this ‘second personality’, even that’s what it is.”

“Good luck dealing with that crazy shit.”

You can’t bring yourself to call her your mother. Meenah’s never been your mother. You nod and go to the door, hoping this nightmare of a conversation is over.

“Gamzee,” Meenah says, “I’ve been talking with…friends of mine. Your case can be reopened. We can get the black mark removed from your record. All we have to do is—”

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

You leave the living room before she can try to convince you otherwise. What would be the point in reopening your case? They can’t undo all those years at Amethyst. The city officials won’t care about a decades old assault charge.

You go back to Fef’s room and see Fef and Tav are still asleep. You sit next to Tav and kiss him, smiling.

Tav smiles at you. “I don’t say this enough,” he whispers, “but I’d be dead without you.”

“Think I need you more than you need me, Tav.”

Tav snorts. “Yeah. Right. Who came to whom for help again?”

“I’m serious.” You tug on his ear lightly and he scowls, batting your hand away. “Ain’t like I can take care of myself. Put me in a place and it’ll be looking like a third world country. I can handle the quick and ugly shit but it’s the long and pretty shit I got trouble with.” 

Tav sighs cause he knows he ain’t got a way to dispute the facts about your frazzled brain. “You can still be a good Dad.”

“I won’t yank their tongue out when they disrespect me. I can do that much.” It helps that Tav’s a sweetheart but he ain’t gonna tolerate you mutilating the kid. He’d put a knife to your bulge for even thinking about it. “When are you due again?”

“Between Winter Holiday and New Year’s.”

He’s got another month then and that makes you squeamish. You’ve blinded people with rusty nails but the thought of Tav screaming and bleeding makes you nauseous. You don’t want to think about it. “You should really go to sleep.”

“Should call my Mom…” Tavros mutters but his eyelids shut again.

“Go to bed.” Your iHusk still has battery power but there’s no reception at the trailer without power. You’ll wander around for a signal and contact Rufioh when Fef and him wake up.


	4. visitor

**== >Gamzee: Be Roxy at that moment **

 

The ride to New Jack General with Dirk is tense. Dirk won’t talk to you in front of the cops, who don’t include Swan. Swan apparently went home since he needs his beauty sleep so you’re with Investigator Quan and a subordinate. Quan is a human, like seventy percent of everyone else on the NJPD. You’re sure Dirk is pissed at you but you don’t care. All you’re concerned for now is Jane and Jake.

You don’t know the details about Jake’s condition but he’s in worse shape than Jane. Jane took a beating and a stabbing but Jake was almost murdered by that…monster. You couldn’t even get a good look at that creature and you didn’t want to. There was something about that beast that still makes your skin crawl.

You recall when you first came to New Jack and encountered the native trolls, who were twice as big as the Leder trolls. They were so huge and everywhere. You had been intimidated by the sight of a purpleblood at Walmart with all the other humans and none of the security guards insisting that they use the local stores near their homes. You were surprised at how they were allowed to leer at you without the threat of an officer beating them. 

You never thought bigger trolls would exist. You’d heard stories about the Grand Highblood but always thought it was an exaggeration.

You’re focusing on the past in segregated backwards Leder because thinking about the past is less painful than the present. When you arrive at New Jack General, Jake is still in surgery but Jane’s been admitted. You give the staff your ID and name and once you’re cleared, you take the elevator to the fifth floor with Investigator Quan.

Dirk remains in the waiting room, wanting to hear the news concerning his husband. You don’t know he’ll react if Jake dies from his injuries. You had always imagined Jake dying during some grand feat or adventure, not on an operating table. You don’t think Dirk would know how to behave if someone he loved so closely died so suddenly. He hates the comparison but he is like a machine. If something is thrown in his gears, he would stop and break down.

Of course you can only speculate at what Dirk would do, as he keeps his feelings so tightly wound around his heart.

You enter Jane’s room. Its very clean and the TV is playing an old sitcom. Jane lies on the bed, plugged into an IV drip of painkillers and blood; stuck with monitors for her heart and lungs. Breathing and feeding tubes are taped to her nose and mouth. There are stitches on her jaw line and face from the black coats.

You kiss her on the cheek. You sit next to her bed and hold her hand, which is clammy and there are dark crescent moons of mud and blood under nails still.

 

 

“You’re going to be fine, Jane.” You whisper, “You can do this.”

The doctor comes in a half-hour later. He tells you she’s going to be fine. The knife didn’t hit an artery. Nothing had been punctured but it was still painful for her. Her nose had to be reset and she would need time to recover from her injuries. It could be days before she came out of the drugged haze.

“We’ve got her on the good stuff to ease away the immense pain she must be in.” The doctor pats you on the shoulder. “But she’s going to make it. She’s a strong lady to survive this.” The doctor looks at Quan. “Do you know the identity of who attacked her?”

“A cybernetic with a chip on her shoulder.” answers Investigator Quan, “We’re conducting an investigation. We’d rather you keep this quiet and away from any journalists.”

“I’ll make sure to do so.”

The doctor looks at you with sympathy in his eyes. He must think you’re Jane’s wife. Your feelings for Jane have always been deeply platonic, especially after Leder. Only trolls have a concept of how you platonically care for each other. You doubt the doctor would understand that though. Few humans do. You nod politely and he leaves. You move the hair out of Jane’s face, smoothing it down.  

“We’re going to have to take you down to the station to give a proper testimony about everything that’s going on.” Investigator Quan says, “I know you’re willing to cooperate but I don’t know about your buddy.”

“My ex-husband.” You say, “He doesn’t have a good history with the police.”

“Ex-con?”

“We’re from Leder. So is Jane. We didn’t exactly leave the country under good circumstances.”

Quan frowns. “I was on the force when you guys came over and the…unfortunate events of what happened afterwards. My wife came over too. We met during one of the raids we conducted on the refugee apartments.” He smiles sadly. “Its awkward when you can’t tell your kids that you met their mother in a sweatshop in North Aniline End.”

“At least she got out.” You know he’s trying to win you over with that little connection but the police ignored the crowded apartments once refugees were kept out of their hair. Dirk had a baby so he got out early. Jane and you were next to go since you were both pregnant. Others weren’t so lucky, especially the purplebloods. People got pushed into sweatshops and motel brothels in the Squalor or Dockside.

“You feel up to going to the station tonight?” Quan asks, “I should be heading home but I think we should take your testimony while its fresh in your mind.”  

You nod. “Fine, but I want to have a word with Dirk. Alone.”

Quan sighs. “Alright, but only for a few minutes.”

You go back down to the waiting room and see Dirk sitting next to the officer, with everyone else giving them space. Quan (essentially) bribes a nurse to let you use an empty room to talk. Dirk stands at the opposite end of the room, far from the door so no one can overlook.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment?” you ask Dirk.

“What makes you think the police are going to help?” he asks, “You remember how much ‘help’ they were as soon as we arrived.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” you growl, “but I’m tired of taking your advice for everything. I don’t even know why I let you talk me into letting your Trussian ‘friends’ take control of the situation when I should have know it would have resulted in a shoot-out.”

“None of us knew that there were Cherub spies in the neighborhood or that they would be so heavily armed. You _know_ the NJPD’s reputation.”

“No. No, I don’t. I know about the NJPD’s reputation _from_ _you_. No police force is perfect but you make it seem like they’re the Pitch and Lies incarnate. You know who has enough firepower to fight the Cherubs, Dirk? _The fucking police._ Because _its their fucking job to fight criminals! Not us!_ ”

Dirk stares at you. You inhale, trying to control your pounding heart. “I promised myself after Leder that I wasn’t going to let my home turn into a warzone. Well, it happened again, and I should have stopped it. I should have but I was afraid for Rose. I let you talk me into this…well, never again. I’m done.”

“Done?”

“I’m done with this sort of shit. I’m not arming myself again or looking to shoot people in the head because they’re trying to shoot me. I don’t want to live like that Dirk. I can’t live constantly in fear.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He sounds pained, as if he wants you to scream hatred at him.

“Dirk, please just…” You move closer to him and Dirk—on instinct—backs away from you. “Dirk, let the NJPD handle this. Just…retire, okay?”

“Retire…?” He makes it sound like it’s a foreign word.

“Retire from this sort of thing. All this spying, all this fear and anger toward the Cherubs and feeling responsible for everyone. Its not your fault what happened but I just think that…you’re going to be a Dad soon. Do you really want your kid to grow up in that kind of environment?”

“What exactly do you want me to _do_?” he growls. He sounds angrier than you expected, as if you’ve called him a slur.

“Cooperate with the police. Let them handle the situation.”

Dirk snorts. “I already have to.”

“The police are forcing you to cooperate?” What would the NJPD possibly have on Dirk to force cooperation? He seems irritated about it.

“Not the police. Are you staying here for the night?”

“No. I have to go to the station and give a testimony.” You don’t have to tell him that you’re not going to mention the nature of his Trussian friends. “What will you do?”

“Wait until Jake gets out of surgery.”

“He’ll make it.” You swallow and whisper, “For what its worth, I think you handled things well. It could have been worse. A lot worse. We’re lucky no one died, but I think this is the last time any of us can do something like this. Next time we won’t be so lucky, but, thank you for trying to protect Rose and us.”

If the apology meant anything to Dirk, he doesn’t show it.

“See you around then.” he says, as neutrally as possible.

You don’t know when he’s going to the station for his testimony. You don’t ask. You leave the room and nod to Quan. “Let’s go.”

 


	5. dirk alone

You don’t watch Quan leave with Roxy. You have minimal fears. The dossier had listed Quan as an honest cop; hard-working and has lived in New Jack all his life. He’s taken a bullet protecting troll children from abductors and fought against corruption on the force, even testifying against infamous dirty cops in the city. You can trust him to watch over her. You’re not entirely sure about the officer shadowing you. They’re green and you can smell the intimidation on them when they look at you. _Suburban born and raised,_ you estimate. Either way, you’ll find out.

You sit in the waiting room, full of the homeless, addicted, sorrowful, concerned, and feel emptiness sweep over you. There is no point in tears because it wouldn’t heal Jake or make the doctors work any faster.

Roxy is away. Jane is unconscious. Jake is also unconscious, if he survives. If he survives, he’ll be in physical therapy for months, just learning how to walk.

 _If_ he can walk again.

Once again, you’re alone but this time you don’t even have Dave for company. He’s an adult and has his own concerns. You don’t have Sergei because he’s been standoffish since Kankri and you went to the Railway. Your online communications are brief and passive-aggressive now. He must think Kankri and you are secretly a ‘thing’ and making his jealousy childish and blatant. Something you don’t have time for.

Lil Hal and you had a falling out years ago, and you have no idea what country he’s in now or if he ever remembers you.

Oksana hates you and the feeling is mutual. She loved Squarewave but he was never receptive to it. You know she blames you for everything that went wrong on the mission that drove everyone apart.

Natryosha only tolerates you. 

Squarewave is dead.

Sawtooth is dead.

You fall asleep in your chair and don’t wake up until a nurse is shaking you. Its five in the morning and your mouth is dried out, but you manage to stand. The nurse says you can see Jake. You (and your shadow) follow her to the hospital triage, where Jake is propped up in bed. There are so many bandages on his face that you can barely see his skin. He has so many tubes plugged into him, he’s starting to resemble a cybernetic on the operation table. The doctor is waiting for him.

“He’s weak but steady.” The doctor tells you. “Its going to be a while before he wakes up. We’ll contact you when he wakes up or his condition changes. You’re his husband right?”

“Yes.” Your voice sounds so weak and tired.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Its amazing he survived at all. He’s a strong man.” The doctor says.

His sympathies bounce off of you. You’re going to be hearing the same words and getting the same looks from everyone you know. This is only the beginning.  You sign papers about next of kin, emergencies, and Jake’s spotty medical history involving past addictions. They’ll have to go easy on the pain killers; you don’t want him to become addicted to prescription meds.

You leave the hospital with the officer, who drives you home. The sky is finally turning blue. Dawn is finally coming. The entire neighborhood smells like barbeque smoke and grilled meat. A curtain has been nailed over the missing windows of your trailer and you hear snoring inside.

You head up to the second floor. The second floor glass has been swept up and quickly cleaned. It still stinks of tear gas. You go the bedroom and see the indent of Jake’s body on the bed. You lay in it and think about his voice and smell. You stare at the ceiling and your mind is blank and the trailer is quiet. 

For the first time in years, your night is silent and you’re completely alone. 


End file.
